insecurities rise like bloated fragments of a corpse to the surface
of a still and murky pond after years of decomposing. What do
you think so far? I'm trying to grab the reader off guard and
grasp his or her attention with the very first line, though I
have absolutely nowhere to go with the thought. Laree has banished
herself to the loft where she has willingly chained her right
leg to the computer hardware as if it were a millstone. A brave
girl, she sits stoically before the neat stack of pages Cheryl,
our Miss Smarty proofreader, has generously referred to as "the
manuscript." Some manuscript; it looks like she stood back about
twenty yards and randomly unloaded her twelve-gauge shotgun in
its general direction. Every line's got a ding; Cheryl insists
on commas and periods and is not a fan of my casual spelling.
to my insecurities: Even though I'm as fit as Hercules himself,
I have to take a medication or two. All males 58 and over are
obliged to take something or other for this or that; it's a social
responsibility. To make a long story short, my doc (whose name
is not Mike) altered my meds hoping a change would be in my favor.
all the symptoms listed under "cautions, side effects and contra-indications,"
which we are, most of us, too clever to read, began to take over
my unsuspecting body. The loss of appetite I attributed to tuna
and cottage cheese overload. The suppression and shortness of
breathe must be my lack of aerobics, what with the book and all.
Shame on me... get back in the saddle, boy! My unwillingness to
get out of bed in the morning to go to work caught Laree's attention,
as did my willingness to crash on the floor upon returning home
after work. Dizzy, drowsy, depressed and apathetic are not the
conditions under which one performs best. It was the diarrhea
that put me over the edge. The Bomber, goin' down fast.
Suddenly, a dim, yellowing light went on in my slowly deteriorating
mind. Blast this stinking bug with the strongest antibiotic known
to man. Ignore the skull and cross bones on the label: extreme
measures for extreme occasions. Gulp. Do not take near open flame.
Four days later I'm green and crawling on all fours. The gym is
not a pleasant sight. I am not a pleasant sight. Food is my enemy
and the scale is plotting against me. I eat, I train and all along
I say, "Something is better than nothing."
I cheerlessly prepared my Bomber Blend for breakfast (I must confess,
a tiny smile dared to curl my lips) and sorted out my colorful
collection of vitamins, minerals, aminos and such until I came
to the prescription department. As I fumbled the slippery capsules
with my fat fingers I noticed I didn't want to put them in my
mouth... That's it. There it was. The problem and the solution
right before my eyes. The simple and subtle change of medication
that had me plummeting will be addressed squarely and precisely:
Dump the new high-tech stuff in the garbage and resume the tried
and true. Back to the basics.
was this morning. Hence, the delay in the article. As mentioned
earlier, "something is better than nothing." I now feel like a
million and the book is back in action, on schedule. Hear this:
the GQ article of a year ago is on the schedule also, slotted
for the November 2000 issue. God's perfect timing as this matches
the release of the book and an article I wrote for the November
Muscle and Fitness mag. Tomorrow is leg day. Squats. Hamburgers.
Bomber returns to the land of the living.
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